


If I could tell you

by orphan_account



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt, M/M, Poetry, References to the Beatles, Soppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 20:43:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19027573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Love is never wrong, but sometimes it has to hide.





	If I could tell you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fitzrove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzrove/gifts), [imaginationtherapy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationtherapy/gifts).



> I want to gift my first ever Endeavour-story to Fitzrove and imaginationtherapy, because their wonderful stories and replies never fail to make me smile.
> 
> It’s just a poor little thing, I’m afraid, but it comes from the heart, lasses.
> 
> Italic letters are either lyrics/poem or Jakes’s thoughts.

The pub was crowded, as it was usual on Fridays. There were all sorts of people sitting at the tables, laborours, students, lawyers and of course the policemen from the nearby station. The jukebox vibrated with the beats of the latest _Stones-_ hit and laughter filled the smoke thick air.

Morse had, as always, chosen a table in one corner of the room, as far away from the other coppers at the bar as possible, but near enough to watch the man who was leaning against the counter, a cigarette and a pint in his left hand while the other one run through his glossy dark hair. The man Morse came to the pub for in the first place. The man who probably, no, most certainly hated him more than any other person in this room.

Jakes turned his head and looked his way.

_He’s watching me, isn’t he? No, that’s wishful thinking, stop it. Of course he is not watching, he wouldn’t look twice at me. You’re the wrong sex, Jakes, remember?_

As soon as he realised that the sergeant was returning the gaze, Morse hastily dropped his eyes onto his pint again. He didn’t want to cause a fight, and a fight there would be if Jakes ever found out that his rivalling, male constable was pining for him.

When he risked another quick glance, the other man had turned back to his friends.

The rock music faded out and a hefty construction worker went over to the jukebox. A few moments moments later a soft guitar tune started ringing out, followed by an even softer voice. Morse recognised it as a song from this new Scouse band all the girls were mad about, even though he hadn’t made the effort to remember their name. To him, popular music was rather obnoxious noise than anything else.  
At least this one seemed to have proper lyrics rather than the unintelligible shouts one had to suffer from other songs.

 _Here I stand head in hand_  
_Turn my face to the wall_  
_If she’s gone I can’t go on_  
_Feeling two foot small_

  
_-Oh no, not this song. Not here, in front of everyone.-_

 _Everywhere, people stare_  
_Each and every day_  
_I can see them laugh at me_  
_And I hear them say_

_Hey, you’ve got to hide your love away_

Jakes began to squirm in his seat, looking uncomfortable. Morse wondered what had gotten into him. Had he noticed him watching and was unsettled by it?  
But Morse was too distracted by the song to pay much attention to him now. It sounded a bit as if… well, if he hadn‘t known better he would have said that it was written by a man in a situation similar to his own. A man who was blessed to experience the one thing all the poems Morse’d read as a boy praised, but who could never tell anyone about it, because society forced him into secrecy.

 _How could she say to me_  
_„Love will find a way?“_  
_Gather ’round all you clowns_  
_Let me hear you say_

_Hey, you’ve got to hide your love away_

When Morse looked up this time, Jakes was gone. He turned and gazed around, and then he saw the well-dressed figure rush out of the front door. It seemed as if Peter (because in his thoughts Morse sometimes indulged in referring to him with his Christian name) had jumped up and run outside in a haste. Maybe he was sick, or had received an urgent message from the station.  
Morse convinced himself that it was conscientiousness which forced him out into the cool evening air; not a sudden sting of concern for Jakes burning inside of his chest.

_Oh, this song. As soon as I hear it I want to cry and cry like a newborn; John ruddy Lennon only wrote it to torture me, that bastard. How could he write a song which articulates the innards of my bleeding heart so well? „Love will find a way“, what nonsense. Not if you have to hide it, then not._

Jakes was leaning against a wall in a narrow alley near the pub, his long hands clutching at his chest, the usual composure completely lost.  
Violent sobs shook his body as he obviously tried to catch his breath.

It was silly, however somehow it was not the crying or the sobbing that hit Morse deep in his heart; it was the fact that Jakes’s usually impeccable, carefully groomed hairstyle had now changed into a sticky dark mess on top of his head.  
Morse didn’t say anything, but eventually the other man looked up and noticed him standing there and staring at him. His tear-swollen face froze to a grimace.

„What do you want, eh? Bugger off!“

Morse stood stockstill, watching as the man who always hid his feelings so well under an armour of arrogance and smugness shuddered and gasped.  
He wanted to touch Jakes, to comfort him, but he knew that the other man would never allow that. You’ve got to hide your love away…

„What about the words „Bugger off“ are you too bloody dumb to understand, you misfit? Do they not exist in your posh dictionary? Do I have to sing a fucking aria to you to make you realise that I don’t want to see your ugly face?“

Morse winced, and turned away, his face now hidden by the darkness of the empty street.

 _No, no, don’t go away, I didn’t mean it, please stay with me. Don’t be hurt, your face is the one good thing this heartless god created in this world._  
_I just need to protect myself, to protect us._

„Morse.“

The younger man spun around, an expression of faint hope on his pale face.

  
_I love your eyes. I wish I could tell you. When you look at me, I’m not longer cold and miserable; not longer the arrogant bastard everyone sees in me. I wish I could tell you._

„Morse, I… if I could…“

If he could… Morse had to think of a poem he’d memorised one summer when he was sixteen and lovesick for the very first time.

_There are no fortunes to be told, although,_   
_Because I love you more than I can say,  
If I could tell you I would let you know._

Yes, he thought, if I could tell you.

But he couldn’t, mustn’t, and Peter couldn’t either. If they would, there was the chance that they lost their jobs, the chance they went to prison or, perhaps, that they were beaten to death like that boy DeBryn had had on his morgue slab last month.

He locked his eyes with Peter’s, grey and blue melting into each other in a moment of silent and yet overwhelming bonding. They both saw and understood what there was and what there could never be.

Then a group of men swayed out of the pub down the street, laughing and bawling, and the spell was broken.  
Jakes wiped his tears away and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to flatten it. Then he lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

Morse straightened his crumpled tie and checked his watch for the time. Finally they ran out of excuses for staying there in the dark alley and walked slowly back to the pub.

„Er, it’s…it’s late, I better go home“ Morse said, never looking at Jakes who was glad about it because he was certain that he’d start to cry again as soon as he saw the other one’s face.

_I have no home when you’re not there._

„Right, constable. I’ll see you at the station tomorrow.“ Without another glance Jakes opened the door and disappeared into the crowded pub; inside, the punters were still chatting and drinking pints, oblivious to the all-consuming change that had taken place in the lives of two young detectives during the last ten minutes.

Morse stood and regarded the door that separated him from the happiness he’d always envied all the other people about for another moment, then he turned around and walked down the dark and empty street.

Maybe in this night he already knew that the door would remain closed for the rest of his life.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Song: You’ve got to hide your love away, The Beatles  
> Poem: If I could tell you, W.H. Auden


End file.
